Melodic Whispers
by Velvet Rose94
Summary: The herione is a completely original character who doesn't take well to comands. She's sent on a favor to fetch a very unwilling Phantom for Christine and finds him just as stubborn as herself. Before she can finish her quest she has to undo years of damage with multiple obstacles to top it all.
1. Where Everything Usually Starts

_This isn't going to be a short story. I already have at least 20 chapters written, but they're all over the place so I need to write fillers before I post them. This is my first fan fiction so any critique would make my day. _

(Evangeline)

I leaned against the wall of the nursing home, my feet aching. One last patient and I would be able to escape this self-inflicted hell. It was my job as a volunteer to keep company with the elderly. Only trained professionals were allowed near the more troubled or mentally and physically unfit patients, so it was my job to read or take the others on walks. My brain was swimming with a combination of stories on how life used to be and numerous games of chess.

I rallied the last of my energy knowing it was all for the cause, college. The more extracurricular activities I did along with outstanding grades would help me rise from foster care to completely independent. The sight that greeted my tired eyes brightened my increasingly depressed mood as I contemplated the few months I still had to wait between now and graduation.

She had the sweetest smile on her kind, lined face. There was something imperial about the woman standing in front of the window, her slim, tall form outlined with the sinking sun. Her white curls were pinned elegantly away from her wrinkled face; brown eyes seemed to visibly ooze warmth. A shawl hung from her thin shoulders, covering the line of an outdated black dress.

"My goodness, don't you look tired. Would you care for a seat?" She had the exuberance of tone usually reserved for younger woman. I couldn't help cheering up, this woman's presence washed away any morose thoughts. "Thank you," I said taking the proffered chair. She floated away from the window to sit on the edge of the bed beside me.

"I just had some tea brought up from the kitchen, would you care for some?" I nodded mutely, confused. She acted as if this was a social visit taken in her home, instead of a stranger visiting her hospital room. I looked around trying to get a better feel for this strange person.

There were no signs of recent visitors. A picture of a handsomely dressed older man sat beside her bed in an ornate silver frame. Her cream colored bedspread was decorated with tiny pink roses, similar to the ones that grew in a pot on her brightly lit window sill except that these were a deep crimson. "Sugar?" she asked breaking me from my examination.

'Yes please," I immediately slipped into a more formal voice, an impolite yeah would seem out of place. She tore open the yellow packets pouring a few into each hospital commissioned, sterile white mug. "It's not actually sugar. They won't let us have it, but it's easier to ask one if they care for sugar than for processed, unnatural sweetener. Given a choice I doubt one would actually pick a factory-made chemical over something that grows from the earth, it just doesn't sound appetizing."

I took the sip of the clear, brown liquid and grimaced. I never cared much for sweeteners either. There was something fake and synthetic about them that ruined whatever they were mixed with. She laughed at the disgusted look on my face, "my point exactly. You get used to it over time. I don't actually expect you to drink the rest of that. I won't be offended." I put the cup down from where I was about to take a second sip for the sake of politeness. Instead I held it in my hands, letting the warmth sink into my fingers and revive me.

"That is awful," I exclaimed, my tongue still feeling coated with the imitation sugar. Her eyes widened and she abruptly placed her cup on the plastic tray on wheels. "Where are my manners? My name is Christine." I pried one hand away from the tea cup to grasp her delicate hand, "Je M'appelle Evangeline."

She almost squealed in delight, "vous parlez français." I wasn't fluent even after being on my fourth year of taking the class, but it was more her accent that had inspired me to use her obviously native tongue. "A little," I admitted modestly, "is that where you came from?"

She shook her head a faraway look in her eyes, "I was born in Sweden, but I came to live in Paris at a very young age." I sensed an interesting tale behind her words and even though I was supposed to offer to read to her I found myself distracted with questions. "How did you end up in England?"

She handed me the picture of the distinguished man and I put down my forgotten tea to take it. "My husband, Raoul, took me here shortly after we were married. I loved France, but I couldn't stay." There was a loving smile on her face as she stared at the black and white photograph. I gathered he had died but I didn't feel comfortable enough to ask about it.

"Why couldn't you?" There was a curiously sad look on her face and I speculated about all the possibilities that would force someone to leave the home they loved. "It is a very traumatic tale, too long and twisted to explain in just an hour. If you like one day I may tell it to you, but not today."

I nodded accepting not to push her any farther. As strong as she had seemed a moment ago a sudden frailness over took her features. I looked about for a distraction and remembered the book sitting beside me on the chair. "Would you like me to read to you?"

She glanced at the novel, "Depends on what it's about." There was a list of pre-approve novels I could pick from to read to patients. Almost all of the books were picked because they were dry and boring with little controversy. Weak hearts and medication didn't mix well with drama. "_The Secrets Daffodils Keep_" I tried to keep the disgust out of my voice. I didn't want to skew her perception about the book before she could make up her mind.

She winced slightly, "No thank you. I'd swear they think we're children with the choices they come up with." I laughed, my heart warming even more towards this odd woman. "I can bring my favorite book tomorrow, if it would interest you more." She looked at me expectantly, her eyes luminous with curiosity. "_The Count of Monte Cristo_, by Alexandre Dumas." I answered her unasked question.

She seemed to perk up a bit, "it's been a long time since I've read a good book and if you recommend it…"

"Then I'll bring it. I have a lot of battered classics at home if you'd like to borrow some." I felt sad seeing the joy the promise of a few worn down paperbacks brought to her face. I couldn't imagine going a day without a novel within arm's reach, let alone the torture of searching through the hospital's small monitored selection for some sort of honorable literature.

"Goodness, look at the time. You ought to be home eating supper by now." I followed her gaze towards the clock inching its way in the direction of 6:30. I stood up, scrambling for my things, "I didn't even realize." It wasn't like my foster parents would even have noticed my absence, but I still should have left the hospital at six so I wouldn't be doing homework until late tonight. I headed for the door before turning around and tipping an imaginary top hat at Christine, "good day Madame, until tomorrow." She seemed overly delighted with the gesture and returned it, "and you Mademoiselle."


	2. Book Dictator

_I just got my first reviews ever, which was better than a dose of caffeine from my pumpkin latte. Thank you. I was so excited I immediately polished off this chapter to post._

(Evangeline)

"I brought you a present," I proffered packets of sugar I had nicked from the teachers table after lunch today at school. She dropped the copy of _Wuthering Heights_ that I had brought her several days ago after finishing _The Count of Monte Cristo_, her whole expression brightening at the sight. "How lovely," she exclaimed inhaling the scent of her tea after she had mixed in several packets.

I claimed a cup of my own from the shelf improving the amber liquid with the tiny crystal grains. "I wish they had assigned me to you a long time ago," I started conversationally. Seeing Christine every night after all my other rounds was like a dose of relaxant. She was wonderful to just sit and talk to for an hour or even more as our meetings tend to invariably run much longer. "I don't know what I did for literature before you came along."

"You starved," I answered settling down into the wooden chair always left beside her bed for me. I didn't just visit nightly anymore either, but every second I could spare in between patients was spent just running up to the fourth floor so I could pop my head in and say hi. "What part did you get to?" I referenced her abandoned novel. "She just died."

"Geez, you're supposed to say spoiler alert before you shout something like that." She looked absolutely horrified as if she had actually just ruined the whole book for me. I laughed at her expression, relieving her before she had a heart attack, "its okay, I've already read that book… actually more than once. So I even know what she you mean without a name."

She let out a sigh. "Don't do that to me," she mock scolded, "I thought I just broke one of my biggest pet peeves." I tried mumbling in agreement around the cookie in my mouth, when that failed I just nodded my head energetically. She laughed unable to stay mad for longer than it took a butterfly to flap its wings. "I brought you a few more novels to get you through the next few days." She gave me a curious look as to the sadness in my voice. "I have a massive project due on Friday so I won't be able to volunteer the rest of the week. I'll see you on Monday though." The thought made my perspective over getting through the rest of the week brighten.

"Thank you," she studied the titles intently searching for the novel's secrets before she even cracked them open. She flipped to the front page of _Frankenstein_ and seemed immediately engrossed in the tale. "Hey," I interrupted disapprovingly, "you haven't even finished _Wuthering Heights_ yet. These are supposed to last until Monday."

Looking properly remorseful she patted the cover and set it aside for later, "don't worry, I'll read you once the Book Dictator is gone."

"Now I know why you're in the hospital. You're talking to books." She took one glance at the grave look on my face and began snickering at me. "We'll have you acting your age by the time you leave me. Lighten up." Her infectious laughter brought the smile back to my lips. "Honestly you're too serious for an eighteen year old."

"That's because most eighteen year olds were never forced to grow up." Her head tilted to the side eyeing me intently, "you never do mention your past much."

"There isn't much to say," I spread my palms out in front of me studying the grooves in my skin instead of meeting her gaze, "Parents died, the only place to go was a foster home. She's nice enough," I added not wanting to put off the wrong idea. "There are just too many of us."

She reached out putting one hand sympathetically over the palms I was still studying, "It still has to be tough." I shrugged, allowing the movement to pull me away from comfort. I pulled my legs up onto the chair, my socked toes gripping the edge as I perched on the cushion. My head drooped onto my knees, feigning exhaustion.

"Have you been sleeping well? Maybe you should go home early," she looked over at the clock, "or actually on time for once." I avoided her worried gaze, feeling rotten for wasting the last few hours we'd have until Monday. The past was called that for a reason, every time it was brought up it was like my stomach turned into a hard emotionless rock. I couldn't stand anymore questions.

"School has been stressful," I lied easily, pulling on my vans and making my way towards the door. She stopped me in the entry way giving me a warm motherly hug. Tears stung my eyes for a second, but a blink later they were gone and a smile coated over any wayward emotion. "Goodbye," I called from down the hallway, walking slow enough so it wasn't obvious how fast I was trying to escape before something broke.


	3. Surprise Visit

(Evangeline)

The minutes passed slowly for a self-exiled social outcast with no weekend plans. It was Saturday; surely I should be enjoying the spring tinted remains of winter with friends? Instead I was testing how far I could lean back in my desk chair without tipping, which was shared with my younger foster sister, and trying to balance pencils on the bridge of my nose. For the past hour I had been completely unsuccessful.

When my mind wasn't dumping all available concentration into the stubborn pencil it drifted off to contemplate the last conversation with Christine. The one woman whose only intention was to comfort me and I had shunned like love could burn my pasty flesh as surely as the sun would if left out for an hour. "I'm a terrible person," I told the fly I'd named Jack as it landed on my knee for the umpteenth time.

These thoughts plagued me as the seconds crawled into another wasted minute. Laura strode into the room smacking her gum annoyingly and collapsing upon her pink coverlet. "So, Evan," she started using my most despised nickname, "meet any cute boys lately?" I awkwardly jumped out of my seat, pulling on my hoodie with no regard to which arm belonged where and booked it over towards the door, "I'm going out."

I heard her laughter chasing me down the hallway until I shut the front door on the horridly bubbly sound. I removed my banal black hoodie, the chilly breeze touching my arms for a moment, before I turned it right side out and placed it on properly. The zipper, determined to despise me today as well, stuck halfway up its zip no matter how hard I tugged. Before it broke off completely I left it alone just letting my collar bone freeze in the not-quite-spring air.

My scuffed combat boots traveled the well-worn path, not knowing where else to go when staying outside was an impossibility. My neck craned to find one brightly lit window four stories up on this quickly turning gloomy day. "Evangeline?" the receptionist asked with surprise as if after months of seeing me walk in she didn't recognize me just because it wasn't a week day.

"Hello," I answered politely, looking down the long counter for the sign-in sheet that I'd never had the opportunity to use before. She scooted it in my direction and I wrote down my name, date, and time of entrance. I quickly by-passed the elevators trying to ignore the eyes of those I passed so they wouldn't feel obligated to engage in conversation and conquered the steps two at a time.

By the fourth floor I had to briefly lean against the wall to catch my breath. _You'd think I'd be used to it by now_, I thought wryly taking off towards her room. "Christine," I called to the vacant space taking in the empty, neatly made bed a second after my voice faded away. I sighed disappointedly turning around with rejection stamped on my forehead. Today was not my day.

"She's down the hall," an owlish woman informed me from her wheel chair. "Thank you," I made a mental sketch of her face, promising to make a side visit next time I was on duty. The farther I walked down the oppressively white hallway the more it dawned on me that "down the hall" could mean any of the doors I passed.

Before I started to rudely throw open doors in search of kind brown eyes I decided to check the recreation room. Piano music engulfed my body as the door inched open. Christine couldn't hear my clunky boots echo around the spacious, hollow room over the notes flooding around her. I casually stood behind her waiting for the song to dwindle to an end. Her fingers came to a standstill resting on the final keys, the pure notes resounded and then faded away.

"Lovely," I complimented, sitting down on the cushioned bench beside her. "Oh, hello Evangeline. I didn't expect you until Monday." I looked abashedly at the ivory keys rather ashamed of just dropping in unexpectedly, "I wanted to see you." I left out the part where I had nowhere else to go and no friends to go there with.

"That's so sweet. I'm glad you came." I met her overjoyed smile with one of my own. "What were you playing?" She absently tucked a stray silver curl behind her ear a bitterly sweet smile on her face, "A song my teacher taught me long ago dedicated to the beauty of the night." _Teacher_? I thought curiously glancing over at the still sad look on her face and deciding to ask later at a better time.

My hands idly brushed over the piano, not hard enough to bring forth any noise from the delicate instrument. "Can you play?" I shook my head remembering my childhood dream of getting piano lessons. The children who got them hated them and yet it was the only thought that consumed me when a holiday rolled around.

"Here," she took my hands placing them strategically across the row of keys, "you actually have to spread your fingers out," she remarked dryly as it turned out my relaxed fingers didn't match up where they should be. I pressed down gently on the keys drawing forth a dark blare that made me jump. She laughed at my skittish actions, "now here, here and here," she plucked a number of keys in a seemingly random sequence. I hit here, there, and then somewhere not even close to the last note drawing forth an inharmonious jumble of noise.

"No, there," she rectified, not even sounding the least bit impatient. I felt like throwing my fist down on the expensive instrument and storming away but instead I took a deep breath and tried again, and again. Eventually Christine patted my shoulder, standing to stretch her legs. "You've got it now. Just keep practicing."

She yawned mid-stretch before gathering her shawl from the bench, "When do you have to be home?" I hit the button on the top of my pocket watch necklace, the face popping open to reveal the time. "Never," I answered with decision clicking it shut. "That's nifty," she commented referencing my most prized thrift store find while holding the door open for me to pass through. She yawned again as I exited, one hand covering her mouth. "I guess I'd better go," I glanced down at the floor in disappointment.

"Come by tomorrow," she told me seeing my downcast expression. I immediately perked up, staring at her like a wide eyed child, "really?" She nodded in amusement, turning to head back to her room. With more spring to my step then I had shuffled out the door with I bounded over to the stairs. "Bye!" I shouted several doors down in her direction.

The world had plunged back into a bitter winter chill during the process of turning over to night. I unconsciously reached for my zipper forgetting that there was a reason it wasn't pulled all the way up. After a short struggle it snapped leaving me staring at the tiny metal bit in my hand in shock. "Damn you," I told the zipper as I chunked it at a tree. It bounced back getting lost in the dead grass. Without further ado I hunched over and made my way home, trying to wrap the music in my head around my shoulders to keep me distracted and warm.


	4. The Story Divulged

_Sorry for the long wait. I just didn't feel the chapter was ready. I still don't, but here it is anyway. I have my first college exams ever coming up over the next few weeks so I'll apologize beforehand if I can't post soon. Sorry _

(Evangeline)

"So you mentioned having a teacher, was it for piano?" I asked, hugging the Styrofoam cup of coffee closer to my sleep deprived face, the aroma making me sit a little straighter. The dark circles under my eyes were always a byproduct of having a blaze of inspiration for my drawings, which always inevitably led to whole nights dedicated to art alone. The piano music had set me off on a sketching spree, only to have me grumbling in hatred to the alarm clock this morning as I had set it to visiting hours.

"Among other things," she answered vaguely. I glanced up intrigued by the fact that she seemed so unhappy with the topic. She sighed seeing the look in my eyes and caving to my curiosity, "he gave me a voice." Instead of satiating my curiosity it only served to confuse me further. "You mean singing lessons?"

"In a way," she defaulted back too ambiguous to my great irritation. "I'm sorry, it isn't a story I've told many times before." I stared ahead attentively, "that's okay, I'm patient." _To a degree _I mentally added.

She smoothed her unwrinkled skirt, settling as comfortable as possible on a piano bench. "I was only a naturally talented singer. After my father died I guess you could say I neglected my art and my practices, letting my voice fall to disuse. Then after a few years of only singing when necessity dictated it at the opera house I lived at, he swooped in and saved me. Without my art I was only half alive and he revived me to see the splendor in a world more brilliant with music then I had been living in."

"What happened?" I prompted after her voice tapered off into silence, foreshadowing a disaster. "I met Raoul." I failed to see where that warranted such sorrow to creep into the story, "your husband?" I clarified. She smiled wanly, "yes, though at the time we only had fond memories to hold us together. You see I had known him for a short while when we were children."

I remembered to take a sip of my coffee before it got cold. The story had gripped me up making me forget my exhaustion. "My teacher was very, displeased," she faltered over the word as if it didn't fully cover the situation. "He didn't want me to neglect my art for some silly fop, but I was in love. So we began to sneak around, or at least we thought we were so clever with our meeting spots, but he knew. He always knew."

"But how can he forbid you to date? What power did he have?" I interrupted with questions. "He had every power over me," She burst. "He was my angel," she added more softly. I could feel the skin between my eyebrows pucker as they furrowed in deepening confusion. "How did he get away with it? Surely someone would have stepped in to help you?"

"Help me? I couldn't even help myself when it came to him. No one knew he even existed. He was my angel of music, my secret to bear." Her tone became guarded as she defended him from my derogatory questions. "Alright, so how come no one knew about him?" I tried a different tactic seeing the angry results to my blunter questions.

"They knew him as a ghost, a phantom, of the opera. No one ever really saw him except in flickers of black. I knew him as an angel because that is the mask he chose after he learned the promise I held so close to my heart that my father had made to me before he died." I refrained from asking what promise exactly, hoping she'd get around to it without any prompting on my part.

"My head was filled with stories of an angel of music that would visit only those most dedicated to their music since I could understand words. Some went their whole life's without hearing his voice while others, like child prodigies, were blessed in their cradles to play whatever instrument came within their grasp. To appease me of his coming death my father said that once he arrived in heaven he would send me the angel."

_So it was his fault_, I thought pinning the blame on the father's shoulders for all the superstitions that he had poured into an impressionable child. I waited as quietly as possible letting Christine compose herself as memories swamped her stooped shoulders. "But he was only a man," she sighed, still lost in past sorrow. "A man," she continued, "with one of the most ethereal voices I have ever heard."

So that was the snare, like a siren entrapping her with his voice only to find a monster. Already the image in my mind was that of a twisted shadow preying upon a young, talented woman. "I still don't understand why he didn't want you to be with Raoul."

"He was in love with me," she stated finally coming to the root of all evil. I suppressed a grimace at the term love, loathing that particular grouping of letters. Then my mind went on to contemplate the stereotype that went along with teachers. My mind conjured up the image of a man twice her age and I shuddered. "How old was he?"

She smiled at my inane worry, "he appeared about 25 maybe more or even less. It was hard to tell with the face he had."

"Appeared?" I asked immediately latching on to the odd term. She rubbed her forehead wearily, the overload of emotion aging her face. "That is not a topic for today." Today, I thought, but that meant that there was another story behind her strange phrasing. I stood, sensing her exhaustion. I crossed the room throwing out my nasty room temperature coffee. "I guess I should go."

"Am I chasing you out?" she asked, looking slightly ashamed as if something in her tale had offended me. "No," I quickly reassured, using my over-worn lie, "I have a test tomorrow, so I'd better study." She clucked sympathetically, "you poor girl. What barbarian hands out tests on Monday?"

I didn't answer, gathering that her question was purely rhetorical and it also saved me from having to elaborate upon a complete falsehood. "One last question," I paused in the doorway, glancing back at her worried expression. "It's nothing bad, I'm just curious. How come he had to resort to facades? What was preventing him from living just like everybody else?"

She ignored the fact that I had asked more than one question and answered them both easily, "he was born deformed. He wore a mask to hide it, but it wasn't enough to remove the fear others held of him." She gestured to the right half of her face to detail just where the deformity stretched.

I absently wandered towards the stairs, my mind reeling with information. On top of it all, I refused to feel pity for a man who resorted to deception to achieve his goals.


	5. Conspiring Time

_I'll try to make these next few chapters as interesting as possible, but it's more of a necessary waiting game until I can start working on the next chunk of the story. I guess it's about time to say I don't own the Phantom of the Opera in any of its glorious media forms, but I do own all my original characters and unless otherwise stated my lyrics and operas too. _

(Evangeline)

Christine rolled her sore joints, tenderly massaging the bone in her wrist with her opposing hand. The piano tapered off into silence without someone to bring forth the continuous flood of harmonious beauty. "I don't know how much longer I'll be able to play," she informed me with just a note of sorrow creeping into her tone. She ran her fingers lightly over the keys, bringing forth a light tinkle. "I'll miss the sound."

I picked a few keys at random, pressing down. My ear for choosing the right grouping of notes had improved while listening to Christine. "I know how to read notes. So with some help and sheet music…" I let my offer hang suspended in the air. Her eyes lit up with a spark of an idea, but a sweet smile smoothed out the gleam. "I would be more than happy to teach you everything I know."

My ears perked up at that delightful string of words, "can we start now?" She laughed at my enthusiasm, the sound bubbling up from her gut, "slow down. It's time for you to go home." I glanced at the white loudly ticking clock on the wall and then down at my watch necklace just to make sure it wasn't lying to me. Turns out time was conspiring against me. We shambled out into the hallway, both of us sore from our various duties performed throughout the day.

"I'll see you tomorrow," was her departing statement as she headed towards her room. I nodded my head even though it wasn't a question and she could no longer see me with her back in my direction. "Bye," I called as she turned and waved at the door to her living area. I took a few steps towards the stairs, then when I was certain the halls were empty preceded back into the rec room. I shut the door firmly behind me and wandered towards the piano, keeping the lights at half-dim so no one would suspect my continued presence after visiting hours.

I ran my fingers over the silky wood, the very texture of it feeling sacred by the fact that I wasn't supposed to be there. I lowered myself gently onto the thinly upholstered bench as if kneeling at an altar. My hands glided hesitatingly over the keys, hearing my way into re-creating the first song I had ever heard Christine play. She had played it once more since then, at my insistent begging. My eyes had been glued to her still delicate thin fingers, wishing I knew how to make such beauty bend under my touch.

I worked my way through the song, one measure at a time. When I riddled out the next note in the sequence I'd return to the beginning playing it through with each new addition. In the middle of a particularly difficult bar, in which none of the keys I plucked remotely resembled the ones Christine had played, the door whispered open without noise, but an opening in the room could be felt in the air. A sneaker squealed on the white tile, "it's passed visiting hours." My fingers hung suspended, itching to continue their work, as my head turned to inspect the threat of the intruder.

The round face regarding me looked irritated and exhausted from a long day of work; a schedule which I had interrupted. "I'm sorry. I must have lost track of time," I apologized without sincerity. She stepped back, rubbing her eyes wearily as if she wasn't sure what to do with me now that I was caught. "Just go," she sighed backing into the hallway.

"If you're caught again, I'll have to report you," She warned me as I followed suit, blinking against the bright sterile light. I smiled politely, deciding against making promises I wouldn't keep. I was aware of her eyes following me in my retreat towards the stairs.

I took a lung full of the crisp night air, the exhaustion of the day long forgotten under the spurt of musical caffeine. The brick wall was rough even through my hoodie as I leaned against it. My hair stuck in its crevices as I tilted my head back to look at the few stars that had made it through the city's light pollution. With serenity only the mixture of art and nature could bring, I shed the stress of the world from my shoulders, content to just exist.


	6. Lessons

_I can't even begin to apologize for such a long delay and my apology only matters if there is someone who remembers this story and still wishes to read. Writing these chapters has almost been painful. I have to drag the words out of myself just to piece together something decent. I don't know how many chapters it will take until I get to the point in my story where I wish to be. Once there the going will be a bit easier but until then… I have a very vague idea for the next few chapters, so maybe it won't be so long until my next upload, hopefully._

"No," she interrupted my playing. She was a tyrant on a mission, the immense undertaking to teach me how to play music. "I didn't even hear anything wrong this time," she ignored the complaint in my tone, pushing on my spin. "It's your posture; it restricts your movement and speed. Straighten up." I came out of my slouch, trying my best effort not to grumble obscenities.

"I think we should go back to our patient and visitor relationship." She stopped in her pacing to smile brightly, knowing full well I was growing irritated, "not a chance. You wanted this; I'm just pushing you to achieve it. Did you think it would be easy?" I sighed, deflating, "no, I knew it would be hard."

She rapped my shoulder with her knuckles, "straighten back up." With a ramrod straight back I suspended my fingers above the keys and waited. "Begin," she commanded and like a wound up music box I began on the next beat. "Better," she half complimented as the song came to a resounding end.

She collapsed gracefully into a white plastic chair, pulling one up beside her, "come, have a break." I gratefully abandoned the bench, slouching back in the white chair to my heart's content. "You remind me of my son, he was very talented, but had to be pushed. He's the only other person I've ever taught."

"I didn't even know you had a son." She nodded, rather sadly. "Philippe died in his forties, very young for such a catastrophe, but death knows no age limit," She seemed to shrink in her sorrow, losing some of her imperial posture, "I've outlived them all." I reached out a comforting hand, her grip tightening on my fingers. She threw me a small smile, "but at least I'm not completely alone anymore." I felt a spark of warmth budding from my heart and spreading down through my exhausted bones. For once I was needed, and it was a wonderful feeling like no other. There was purpose to it.

"How did you end up here, in the nursing home I mean?" I approached the topic cautiously not knowing how it would be received. "My husband's family deposited me here the first chance they got after the death of my son. Without Raoul or Philippe to protect me I was completely at their mercy. It is not smart for a woman to be completely dependent upon the men in her life, but at least that is one custom that has changed throughout time." There was bitterness in her expression that was only alleviated when she cast a wry smile in my direction, "I couldn't imagine you being reliant upon anyone."

I shook my head in agreement. It was true of my character even to a fault. "Come now," she patted my shoulder gesturing for me to rise, "your reprieve is over, let us dispel all talk of such depressing matters with music." I sighed bracing myself for the hell still to come.

With a last stretch extending to the tips of my fingers to rid myself of all cramps I found the proper starting position on the bench holding my hands ready for her command. "Begin," she ordered with the regal of a queen who expected immediate gratification from her orders. "Yes ma'am," I answered with respect setting about the assigned task to the best of my abilities.


End file.
